Last but not Least
by babybluecas
Summary: Dean's Birthday has always been just a day like any other.


Dean's life has only ever felt temporary. Surviving from day to day, battling nasties each night, having the world's endings hanging over his head specifically will do that to a guy.

But it started earlier than that, didn't it? That night when the fire stole Dean's future when it took away his mom. He was just a little boy then, his green eyes rimmed red and puffy from crying, his small arms, strong enough to carry Sam out of the house, that would soon be wielding shotguns.

Three months later, when his fifth birthday came around, there were no guests or cake, no funny party hats, no laughter. There was no mom, no home.

From then on, Dean's birthday was just another day of the year. Even when every year began to feel like the last. Even when every year _was _supposed to be Dean's last. Winchesters were never big on celebrating things like that.

Except it never was his last year, not really. Time and time and time again he pushed through, somehow, past death, past loss, past the end of times. Each one harder, each one seeming more final, with each one they were more fucked.

And after they scored those wins, a tiny part of Dean, became hopeful, that maybe the end was never coming. Maybe yet again they would win and there would be another year, another birthday for Dean to not celebrate.

Until now, that is. Win or lose, live or die—and more likely die—he knows, whatever the grand finale brings, things will not be the same.

Lose or win, this is the final lap, and this birthday is his last.

So what the hell.

"What are you doing?" Sam asks when Dean turns the wheel and pumps the brakes in an alley. He's sure he saw a bakery a few doors down.

"We need to stock up before we hit the maple land, Sammy," Dean says, pulling out his wallet and counting the bills. Should be enough if he doesn't go overboard. Thank fuck for cash.

"You know they got normal stores with normal food there, right?"

"I'm not taking that risk." Dean gives Sam a wink and climbs out of the car.

Despite all this crap that's been continuously hitting the fan last couple of days, and his eyes carefully watching for the cracks in the pavement before him, he can hardly keep from smiling. The bakery is there and right from the door it hits him with the divine smell of cherry pie.

Dean does go overboard, buys the entire thing instead of two measly slices, then hits the adjacent convenience store.

"Get out," he calls to Sam, slapping his palm on the Impala's roof.

"What?" Sam pops out of the car a little annoyed, then his eyes fall on the beautiful treasure, still warm from the oven. "That's what you call stocking up?"

"It's, uh, dairy-free," Dean says, putting the pie on the Impala's hood. It's not the most convenient or elegant place for celebrating, but Dean's not doing the next step inside the car.

Sam's eyebrows ride up as he watches Dean struggle with a paper on the package he pulled out of his pocket. The thing is being a bitch, but Dean gets there, at last, and pulls out two bright green candles. He stabs the waxy four into the middle of the pie, adds the one right next to it.

"Really?" Sam says, smirking at the candles. "You couldn't just get the regular—"

"Hey," Dean cuts him off, "I'm proud of my age." Then, more somber, he adds, "Wasn't gonna make it to my thirties, remember? Yet, here I am."

Sam smiles softly. "I'm glad you are."

It only takes Dean three tries to ignite the damn lighter just to light the candles.

"Make a wish," Sam says, as Dean pulls the pie up to his face.

Dean rolls his eyes. "I know how this works." Not that wishes ever did them much good.

But then, there's no harm in trying. Even if there's a chance Chuck might overhear it, it's not like this one'll be news for him.

_I wish we win and make it out alive._

Dean blows the candles in one try and grins like that means a thing. Then he pulls out his knife and gets down to slicing the pie.

"Happy Birthday," Sam says, as they get back inside the car, each with a slice of pie in their hand.

So this might not be an awesome birthday party, no guests, not hats; more modest and obscure than that Christmas all those years ago. Just him and Sam, and an awesome cherry pie. But it's more than a day in a calendar.

And this will do.

And if it truly is his last, well, there were worse ways to spend it.


End file.
